


Amnesia

by MerHums



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Concussions, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Non-Graphic Violence, Retirement, Retirement!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 04:58:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13311036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerHums/pseuds/MerHums
Summary: Mycroft Holmes has sort of-kind of forgotten to retire. But a lapse in memory might be just the reason he needs to make that happen. Of course, it could also be helped along by an accidental visit to a certain retired Inspector Lestrade.





	Amnesia

Mycroft grunted as the man connected, his gun falling from his hand into the turbulent sea below. He fought back, barely keeping his feet as the boat violently rocked in the storm. This was not the way this mission was supposed to go. He was getting too old for this.

Water crashed over the deck and he felt his feet slip from under him, head cracking against the ship’s rail, leaving him stunned. Before he could react or find his feet again, his opponent shoved him overboard, striking the side of the ship and barely managing to grab a bit of debris before passing out.

**

Greg hummed softly as he walked along the shore, the scrappy stray dog he’d managed to pick up a while back running ahead. He took a photo of the waves lapping against the far cliffs, wishing he'd grabbed his paint supplies on the way out of the house that morning. It had stormed last night, and the sea was still stirred up, debris scattered over the beach.

Retirement was treating him well. He’d moved from London to a sleepy town on the French seaside. He’d taken up watercolors, finding that he was actually somewhat good at it, though he missed his life in London a bit. Missed Sherlock’s pestering, John’s friendly Friday pints. Molly's flustered jokes. Most of all, he missed the occasional kidnapping, and the tapping of a black umbrella. Sherlock had retired a year ago to Sussex with John, to raise bees. Molly was working on her second book, happily settled down with nice doctor she'd met at a conference. Everyone was paired off as far as Greg knew. Except for himself. And Mycroft. He wondered sometimes, if it would be worth it to reach out. To see if Mycroft was still working, or if he might be willing to make a trip to the French coast. Lay on the beach and watch the stars until they grew completely stiff. Enjoy wine and fresh pastry in a cafe. Maybe finally make an advance he'd been waiting to make for ages. Mycroft had always been a temptation. He’d nearly made a move more times than not, always pulling back at the last moment. Sometimes he wondered just what would have happened if he hadn't. If he'd asked.

Greg shook himself out of his daydreams as the dog started barking. He frowned, looking ahead to where he was jumping up and down at a dark shape, growling and barking. 

Within just a moment, Greg recognized it as a human body, and he ran forward, dropping to his knees. He gently rolled them over, blinking in shock as he recognized two things. One, the body was alive. Two, as if magicked up by his imaginings, the body was Mycroft. Beaten up, gashed on the head, but alive and here. Greg felt for his pulse, finding it strong. “Mycroft? Can you hear me?”

Mycroft blinked slowly awake. He rolled to the side and coughed up seawater, gasping in the sunlight. He heard a voice calling his name and looked towards the sound. A grey haired man about his own age. Something seemed familiar, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. And his head ached terribly. He closed his eyes again.

“Mycroft? C’mon, don't sleep right now.”

Mycroft. Right, that was his name. He frowned, trying to remember anything else. A storm? Everything else seemed to be slipping away as soon as he reached for it. He opened his eyes again and looked up at the man. “Who?”

“Who?” Greg frowned. “Are you asking who I am?”

Mycroft nodded slowly, putting a hand to his head.

“My name is Gregory Lestrade. We've known each other for nearly twenty five years now.” Greg carefully helped him stand up, supporting him. “Let's get you back to the cottage.”

“Don’t remember,” he mumbled.

“That's all right, you hit your head on something. We’ll just get you back to the cottage and get you some medicine, and I'll call Anthea,” Greg said soothingly, helping him along. “It's not that far, My.”

“Where… storm?” he asked, everything still fuzzy.

“France. You're in France. You washed up on the beach,” Greg said. 

“France?” Mycroft tried to remember, but it was just making him tired.

“Yeah. Just relax, I got you.” 

Mycroft nodded and passed out again as they reached a tidy cottage. 

Greg hefted him into his bed, sighing as he went for his phone, dialing a number rarely used.

Anthea answered in a moment. “He is with you?” 

“Yeah, pure luck. But he's a bit bashed up,” Greg said. “He doesn't remember anything but his name. Doesn't even know who I am. What happened?”

“I can’t give you details. Call a doctor. I will be there as soon as I can.”

“All right. Should I be worried someone is going to come after him though?” Greg asked. 

“I trust you to protect him.”

“So that's a yes,” Greg said grimly as she hung up on him. He sighed, and dialed the local doctor, hoping he'd come out. 

**

“Bonjour Greg,” said the doctor. “You said it was urgent?”

“Yes. I found this man on the beach. He's injured.”

The doctor frowned and moved into the bedroom. “Storm washed him up?”

“Yes. I think he may have been boating, I've already called and notified the coastal guard,” Greg lied. 

“Do you know him?” The doctor examined him and began working on the head wound.

“Yes, he’s an old friend,” Greg said. “John Watson.” He nodded. “He’d told me he was up the coast a bit.” 

“Head wounds are always tricky. And there’s some bruised ribs. Has he been unconscious the entire time?”

“He woke once when I found him, and stayed awake until we got back, but he didn’t truly recognize me, and couldn’t tell me what had happened.” 

“Concussion, most likely. You’ll have to keep a close eye on him. There isn’t much I can do unless I take him to the nearest hospital for work.”

“I’ll watch him. I don’t think he needs the hospital. Getting him there would be difficult.” 

The doctor nodded. “I’ll leave you some medications. Keep him comfortable. But if he has even what seems like a seizure, he needs the hospital.”

“I will take him if I need to,” Greg nodded. “Thank you.” 

He saw the doctor out, and then sat to keep vigil, his phone and gun sitting beside him. 

Mycroft woke sometime later, still tasting salt water. He shifted to try and sit, hungry and confused.

“Whoa. Lemme help you,” Greg said, moving over to help him sit up. “Do you know who I am?” 

Mycroft shook his head slowly. “Don’t remember,” he frowned.

“That’s all right. My name is Greg. Do you know your name?” 

He wrinkled his nose. “Mycroft,” he said slowly.

“Yeah.” Greg smiled at him. “Good. Let me get you some water, all right?” 

“Hungry.”

“Drink first, and keep it down. Then I’ll get you some food.” 

Mycroft nodded. “What happened?”

“You washed up on the beach. I don’t know other than that.” 

Mycroft nodded again. “Familiar.”

“We’ve known each other for a long time. It was just luck that I found you. Do you remember what your job is?” 

Mycroft frowned and held his head. “No.”

“That’s all right. Your assistant is coming soon. Until then, I’ll try to explain if you have questions.”

Mycroft gave him a faint smile. “Lots of questions. I just don’t remember.”

“Well, you have a brother. Remember anything about that?” Greg asked, standing and fetching a bottle of water. 

He thought. “Sherlock?”

“Yep. Hard to forget him, huh?” Greg handed him the water with a smile. 

“Little. Pirate?”

“When he was younger, he wanted to be.” Greg helped him hold the water as he took a few careful sips. “But now, he keeps bees in Sussex with his husband.”

Mycroft looked at his own hands and at Greg’s. “Not married. You were. Years ago.”

“Yeah. Not married anymore.” Greg sat down on the edge of the bed. “You aren’t married either.” 

“Retired, yes? Am I retired?”

“I don’t think so. I think that you were working when you got hurt. You might be planning on it though.” 

“You’re kind.” He put the glass aside. “Food? Should I help?

“No. You should rest, all right? And here, there’s medication left for you. It will help.” Greg handed him the pills. “I’ll make you something easy to eat.”

“Okay.”

Greg smiled at him, feeling something tighten in his chest. 

**

“Mycroft? Mycroft, wake up!” 

Mycroft shook, sitting up and holding his head. The dream was already fading, something black and swirling and full of water and blood. “I woke you.”

“Yeah. It’s all right though,” Greg said, rubbing a hand through his hair. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not sure what it was. Salt water and blood.”

“You want some fresh water then?” 

“Please?”

Greg got up and got a new bottle for him, shaking out another two pills. “Here.” 

“Thank you. Will you stay?”

“Sure.” Greg sat down and yawned. “How’s your memory?”

“Still mostly missing.”

“That’s all right.” Greg laid back, one arm under his head. “Means I can tell you all the jokes you hated the first time I told them, again.” 

Mycroft snuggled in close, finding him comforting. “Okay.”

Greg blinked in surprise, then carded a hand gently through Mycroft’s hair before resting it on his shoulder. “Try and rest some more.” 

“I will. Feels safe,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

Greg nodded. “Night.”

**

Greg opened the door to Anthea, and let out a relieved breath. “He’s inside.” 

She nodded and handed him a folder. “I’ll speak with him.”

“He doesn’t remember anything.” Greg glanced at the folder. 

“You said. I saw the doctor’s report.” She slipped into the bedroom.

Greg sighed, and sat down, flicking through the folder. He looked up as Anthea came back out a while later. “Is this what happened then?” 

“Yes. He was discovered and knocked overboard. It’s pure luck that he survived at all. I believe staying here with you will help him.”

“You want him to stay here?” Greg asked. “What?” 

“He feels safe here. I can stay nearby, if you wish.”

“I….no, that’s fine. I just…” Greg took a breath. “Never mind.” 

Anthea raised an eyebrow. “Speak, Lestrade.”

“He doesn’t remember me. Anything.” 

“He doesn’t remember me either. All we can do is be patient with him and hope that he will recover. Aside from his memory he seems to be in decent shape. And I know you will be patient with him.

“Of course.” Greg nodded. “I have two rooms if you want to stay. I can kip on the couch.” 

“I think he would like you to stay with him.”

“Oh...it did help with his nightmare last night,” Greg said uneasily.”I know he's had security on me before. He won't mind that I'm ah...well.” 

She raised her eyebrow again.

“Look. You wanna be a bisexual man in another man's bed if he wakes up with his memory but not knowing how you got there?” Greg asked dryly. 

“Believe me, Lestrade, you are the one man I would allow to wake up in his bed.”

“Ah…” Greg blinked. “Are you two…?” 

She scoffed. “No.”

“Just the way you...ah.” Greg let out a quiet mutter in French. “Never mind.”

Anthea gave him a look somewhere between amusement and pity. “He only favors men, Lestrade. And I don’t favor anyone. It’s been a mutual arrangement for many years between us, and we have saved one another's lives, several times over. But it’s respect between us, and nothing more.”

“Oh.” Greg nodded. “Well...all right. Want something to eat?” 

“I’ll fix something for us all. Go on in to him.”

“Okay.” Greg went in and sat down. “Mycroft? How you feeling?” 

“A bit better. Memory is still shot though.” He studied Greg. “Were we close? Intimate?”

“No. Friends, yes. But you were always...busy.”

Mycroft glanced sadly out the window. “I think I must have been lonely. Anthea told me some things, gave me some things to read as well.”

“That’s good. Your memory will start coming back soon.” 

“Perhaps. Until it does, tell me about yourself?”

“I can do that,” Greg smiled. “Well, I was an Inspector with Scotland Yard. Worked with Sherlock as my consultant.”

**

“Do you want a shower?” Greg asked. 

“Will you help me?” asked Mycroft, blushing a bit. “Still don’t feel entirely stable standing.”

“If you don’t mind, I can. Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Greg smiled. 

“Alright. I’m sorry if I’m a bother.” Mycroft leaned on him a bit.

“You’re fine.” Greg helped him into the bathroom, setting him against the sink to start the water. “Just figured you’d like to get clean. You did wash up on a beach.”

“Yes. There’s still salt in my hair.” He ran a hand through the hair, now gone white with age.

“You know, I like your hair now. White’s a good color for you. I’ve been silver for years.” 

Mycroft squinted at him a moment. “It was brown before, yes? Mine was red.”

“Brown, yeah.” Greg chuckled. “It started going silver when I was twenty-two.” 

“Young.” Mycroft accepted his help into the shower. “I think I maybe remember you a little, but mostly I just feel safe with you. And Anthea. But you’re different.”

“Different how?” Greg asked, leaning against the wall. “Soaps there, shampoo in the green bottle.”

“I mean, I feel safe with you in a different way.”

“Oh. Well, I always considered us friends,” Greg said. “We never really did that much together. You kidnapped me about monthly though, so it wasn’t terrible. I got to see you at least.”

“I kidnapped you?” Mycroft frowned again.

Greg chuckled. “All the time.” 

“I must not have been very nice.”

“Well, nice no, not in a normal sense. But you are brilliant. Cold, but I know you care. You just hide it well.” 

“You’re kind.”

“So are you. Even though you hide it. I know you donated to the yard once. I mentioned that one of our officers had lost his wife, and his house was going to be taken for the medical bills. You donated a massive sum, and let him get back on his feet.”

“I’m surprised you knew about it.”

“I tell you during my kidnapping about a problem, then I go to work the next day and the problem is solved. Who else would it be, My?” 

“Well I suppose, then.”

“I guess we won’t know for sure until your memory comes back.”

“I suppose. Will you wash my hair?”

“All right.” Greg pulled open the curtain a bit, reaching in and soaping his hands. He steadily worked the lather through Mycroft’s hair, gentle as he knew his head had to be hurting still. “Tell me if it’s tender.”

“A little, but it feels good.”

“Good. Don’t want to make it hurt any worse.” Greg smiled, wondering what it would have been like if he and Mycroft had been close. If he’d had a reason to step into the shower with him. 

Mycroft opened one eye and watched him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Close your eyes and rinse,” Greg said gently. 

Mycroft obeyed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Greg rinsed his hands and stepped out, getting him a towel. “The clothes I got you all right?” 

“Fine, yes, thank you.”

“Good. You’ve lost a bit of weight since I saw you last. But it has been nearly six years.” Greg held up the towel to him. 

“Is that when you retired?”

“Yeah. Stuck around for a month or so, then moved out here to my family’s cottage. My cousin didn’t wanna keep it up anymore, so I took it over.” 

“Do you miss London?”

“I miss the people more than the city. Molly, Sherlock, John. You,” Greg said softly. “It’s a bit lonely out here, even with the dog and the cat.”

“I’ve never contacted you?”

“No.” Greg shrugged. “But you’re busy.”

“I should have made time.”

“Why start now?” Greg asked, chuckling. “I’ll grab you some clean clothes. I’ll be right back.”

“All right.” Mycroft toweled off and watched him.

Greg handed him the clothes. “Do you need anything else right now?”

“Not that I can think of. Thank you.”

“I'm gonna shower then, and make sure the house is locked up. You're sure you don't mind me staying in here with you? I can sleep on the sofa.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Back in a few minutes then,” Greg nodded and slipped out with his own set of clothes and a towel.

Mycroft dressed frowning at the door, wondering, and then pulled out one of the journals Anthea had brought. 

“Whatcha reading?” Greg asked, stepping back in as he toweled his hair off. 

“Journals I apparently wrote. I really did all this?”

“As far as I know,” Greg said, sitting down on the bed, and tossing his towel toward the hamper. “You are pretty amazing, Mycroft. Don't know exactly what you do, but you are a good guy.”

“I wrote about you sometimes.” Mycroft adjusted his reading glasses and pet the cat that had climbed up next to him. 

“About me?” Greg grinned. “What about?”

“I cared. And I worried. But I didn't want to trap you.”

“Trap me?” Greg asked, wondering quite where this was going and why he was continuing it.

“Yes. I was afraid I was reading too much into your affection.” Mycroft looked at him. “But I don't think I was.”

“This isn’t a conversation we should have now,” Greg said quietly, heart panging. “You don’t even remember who I am.” 

Mycroft touched his hand. “Maybe not the details. But I know I feel safe with you.” He sighed and closed the book. “Always something. Never any time.” He looked at the lines on his hands. “Not much time left now.”

Greg carefully reached out, and covered Mycroft’s hand with his own. “You know. If you have to retire, the coast of France is as good a place as any.”

“I doubt I could continue my job anyway, not with my head this way.”

“No, but your memories will come back.” Greg squeezed his hand and then let go. “Just….It’s something to consider.” 

“But they might not.” Mycroft settled down under the blankets. “There’s flashes, but then it’s gone again.”

“They will.” Greg laid down, and reached out for the light. “I’m sure of it.”

**

“You know, I really should name my animals,” Greg said, watching the dog run ahead of them on the beach. “Calling ‘dog’ really loudly doesn’t work so well.” He smiled at Mycroft. “Head feeling all right? I know it’s a bit bright out here.” 

“It’s nice. Breeze feels good.” He gave Greg a tentative smile.

“Good.” Greg glanced back, seeing Anthea walking slowly behind them. “You know? It’s weird seeing you relaxed, but seeing her relaxed? I might be dreaming.”

“I know that she’s taken good care of me for a long time.”

“She’s always been there with you. I thought you two might have been together for a while, but she said no.” 

“I’d agree with that,” said Mycroft. “Colleagues, perhaps friends, but nothing more. As I said, I feel safe with her, but in a different way than with you.”

“I think you have more friends than you’d realize, Mycroft.”

“Perhaps. But when I try to remember… it feels lonely. Hollow.”

Greg nodded, and then hesitantly reached out, putting his arm over Mycroft’s shoulder. 

Mycroft smiled and leaned against him, reveling in Greg’s touch and the warmth on his skin. “Tell me more about me?”

Greg smiled. “I can’t tell you much about what you’ve done, but I can tell you that you have a suit of armor in your dining room. When Sherlock was little, you’d read to him. You don’t like to eat crab, but you do enjoy lobster. And you have very good taste in wine.” Greg kept going as they strolled, almost surprised at how much he knew about Mycroft. 

Mycroft smiled. “Thank you,” he said as Greg trailed off. He leaned in and kissed his cheek. “For everything.”

Greg blinked in surprise. “You’re welcome, My.” He smiled at him. 

Mycroft smiled back and squeezed his hand, watching his eyes.

“This isn’t the way I’d have liked you to come visit, but it is nice having you here. Memory or not,” Greg shrugged. “I’m glad you’re here, Mycroft. Truly.”

Mycroft leaned forward, when suddenly instinct had him pushing Greg down and catching the pistol Anthea tossed to him, moment before gunfire struck the beach where they’d been standing.

Greg waited on the ground until there was a break in the gunfire, swearing since he didn't have his own gun. 

“Please stay down, Gregory,” muttered Mycroft, watching Anthea move to make sure they were clear.

“Don't have to tell me twice. Christ, I'm too old for this shit.”

“As am I.” He helped Greg up as Anthea nodded to him. 

Greg groaned. “I'll be sore tomorrow. Thank god for sand and arnica cream.” 

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, the ground did though,” Greg said shrugging. “Who was shooting at us, and where did they go?”

“Probably whomever I was against when I got hurt. Anthea will take care of them. Let me get you into the house.”

“I’m fine,” Greg said, smiling. “Let’s get you out of view though.” They headed back toward the house, the dog catching up and giving a grumpy huff as he trotted after them. “Glad to see you’re fine,” Greg remarked to him, getting his keys. “My, can you-oi!”

Mycroft staggered as someone stepped out of the shadows and clubbed him upside the head. The dog growled and went after the figure as Greg turned.

Greg took the gun from Mycroft as he fell, getting off two shots in the man’s direction. “My! You all right?” he asked quickly. “Mycroft! Can you hear me?” 

“Gregory?” Mycroft blinked as he focused on the man in front of him. “Why am I in France?”

“Oh Christ. Just stay here,” Greg said. “Don’t move.” He handed Mycroft the gun and went after the man, elbowing him in the temple. “Anthea!” He called out, seeing her coming over the hill. 

“Where is he?”

“By the door, I left him the gun, he knows where he is, and this guy hit him over the head.” 

“Maybe it corrected the previous trauma. Go to him, I’ll take care of this one.” She gave a cold smile.

“I’ll let you,” Greg said, turning away quickly. He went back and knelt by Mycroft. “Let’s get you inside.”

“I was on a ship.” He rubbed his head, noticing the concern on Greg’s face. “What’s happened?”

“You’ve been here for three days. You didn’t remember anything,” Greg said softly, helping him up and to the bedroom. 

“Ah, that explains these.” He put his hand on the journals next to the bed. “Anthea brought them?”

“Yeah. I called her.” 

“Of course you did. I really managed to wash up outside your door, didn’t I?”

“You really did. And I was just as surprised as you were. I’ll get you some ice,” Greg said. 

Mycroft nodded, looking around the room. “Have we been sharing a bed?” he asked as Greg stepped back in.

“Anthea’s in the other room and you felt bad putting me on the couch,” Greg lied, handing over the ice. 

“Why are you lying?” Mycroft looked at him.

Greg looked at him and sighed. “Because you asked me to share the bed with you. You were having nightmares, and you said that I made you feel safe.”

Mycroft gave a slight smile. “Of course I feel safe with you. Even if I forgot everything else, I’m unsurprised that remained. You’ve always been… special to me.”

Greg smiled, and gave a small nod. “I’ll go...get you some pain meds.” 

“Thank you.”

Greg stepped out and took a deep breath. He straightened up and went to go find medicine, bringing it, a bottle of water and a small meal for Mycroft. “Here. You should take these with food,” he said, stepping back in. 

“Why are you anxious?”

“I’m not anxious. I just want to make sure you’re all right. I’m going to call the doctor again.” 

“Okay.”

Greg smiled at him and stepped out, dialling the doctor. 

**

The doctor arrived before Anthea got back. “You are much better. But take it easy still, yes?”

“Is there anything he should watch for?” Greg asked. 

“He may still have headaches and memory gaps. If anything changes let me know.”

“Thank you,” said Mycroft. 

“You're welcome, Monsieur Watson.”

Greg showed the doctor out, then came back in with a shrug. “I didn’t give him your real name. Figured it was better to give him John’s.” 

“I understand. Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Is there anything else you need right now?” 

“You can stay. I don't mind.”

“Well, this is my home. I wasn't planning on leaving.” 

“I mean… If you want to sleep here with me.”

“Oh. Well, if you're all right with it,” Greg said, nodding. “Yeah. Course. I'm going to go poke my head out the door, and check on Anthea. You all right here with the cat? She'll keep you company.” 

“I’ll be fine.”

“Right.” Greg smiled at him once more, then headed out.

**

Greg slipped into bed beside Mycroft, keeping quiet since he seemed to be asleep already. 

Mycroft stirred and moved a little closer. The night seemed to be tucking them in, protecting them. “Gregory?”

“Yeah, My?” Greg asked softly. “Need something?”

Cautiously, he reached out and put an arm over Greg’s chest. “I have few regrets in my life. But you are one of them.”

Greg's heart skipped. “Mycroft?” He turned on his side, looking at him. 

Mycroft took his hand. “We’ve reached twilight, you and I. I should have said something six years ago. I should have said something twenty years ago. I saw the way you looked at me. I knew what was in your eyes, in my heart. I told myself I was fine, I wasn’t lonely, I didn’t need to complicate your life with mine…”

“I wouldn't have minded a little complication,” Greg said softly. “I always wondered...if there was ever any chance for us. But you always held yourself so far apart.”

“Is it too late, to ask forgiveness?”

“No.” Greg slid his hand under the covers, taking Mycroft’s. “Not if you mean it.”

“I do.”

Greg smiled at him in the dim light. “Good. Because I've wanted to do this for years.” He reached out and gently cradled Mycroft’s face in his hand, then leaned in, brushing their lips together. 

Mycroft moaned softly, kissing him in return. He smiled against Greg’s lips. “Apparently the fates were determined we get together, even if it took knocking me on the head and tossing me on your beach.”

“I'll have to send them flowers,” Greg replied, kissing him once more. “But until then, I want to hold you close.”

“Please. Gregory. For the rest of our lives.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find us on AO3 at [Janto321 ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/)and [HumsHappily](http://archiveofourown.org/users/humshappily) or on tumblr at [merindab ](http://merindab.tumblr.com)(janto321) and [HumsHappily](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com)!


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